


3am Shadows

by javier



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:38:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7785313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/javier/pseuds/javier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’ll find him though.”<br/>“Sorry?”<br/>“The one thing you’ve lost,” she says but the sadness never leaves her eyes. It makes Shiro’s stomach twist and turn.“A torch in the ever present darkness of your palace. You’ll find him. ”</p><p>-- </p><p>Shiro saves Keith time and time again.  </p><p>Also known as: A Ghost Story in 5 parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Every month ends with Shiro visiting her. Every month ends with the same response. 

“You’re going to die.” 

Shiro laughs. It catches in his throat, too airy, too dry. But he still laughs, anyway.  

How else is he meant to respond? 

What he wants to say is: “Everyone dies, it’s a fact of life.” He wants to say it with a wistful smile, an expression that’s been patched up together one too many times, and a brain that’s on the edge of fizzling. 

But a part of him dreads the day that it does happen. To be gone. To be a mere  _ ghost _ in the arch of history, with barely a mark, makes him unsure what he really wants to do. 

Between the half-lies and sidewards glances he’s been getting from both  _ Allura _ and  _ Coran _ , it’s clear they know more than he does. 

Instead, he bites his tongue and wants his fortune read. He wants to know how much longer he has. He wants to know what chances he has. 

He leans forward. “When, Allura?  _ When _ ?” 

“The future for me is — “ She stops, raising her hand up and squints at the small trail of sunlight from the crack in the curtains. Her other hand knocks over the crystal ball and Coran leaps to catch it. “It’s foggy.” 

“Is it now?” Shiro’s drawing his fingers around the empty coffee mug. It’s a reminder of how long he’s been here, a reminder that he should  _ leave _ and go home in a bit. 

Across the table, she’s placed three cards on top of the red velvet tablecloth. She hasn’t turned them over yet and there are times where she never flips them over. Today, her hand hovers over each one of them with her lips parted into a painful, forced smile. 

Shiro leans across the table and places his hands around hers. He squeezes them reassuringly but he can’t bring himself to smile. “I really can’t deal with the suspense.” 

He wishes he doesn’t believe in this as much as he does. But he just  _ does _ . The predictions Allura has made have all somehow come true in some way or another and it’s just a matter of time before his does. 

“You’re always so.. morbid with me.” 

Allura lets out a long sigh. She turns her head to Coran, who gives her a small nod of permission. Shiro finds his muscles tensing as he braces himself for a response. 

Allura lowers her voice, “I’ve never seen someone’s soul so dark. You walk like you’ve never seen the sun, like you’ve never touched happiness.” 

Shiro raises a questioning eyebrow. “Hm?”

“You’ll find him though.” 

“Sorry?” 

“The one thing you’ve lost,” she says but the sadness never leaves her eyes. It makes Shiro’s stomach twist and turn.“A torch in the ever present darkness of your palace. You’ll find  _ him. _ ” 

 

* * *

  
  


Keith parks his car just a little further away from the bridge. His hands slowly slide off the steering wheel, his breath increases significantly as he tries to calm his pounding heart. He’s been thinking about this for far too many days, obsessing over the details for far too little. 

Then, he balls his hands into a fist and his fingernails dig crescents into his sweaty palms. He looks into the distance, his eyes catching the red bridge — the whole reason he’s out here. 

The fallen bridge, they call it. It’s a name that caught on when more and more bodies were found down the stream, more and more lifeless people, thinking that this is the only way out. That  _ this _ is the only conclusion they deserve.

(Keith’s conclusion, he says only to the wind.) 

It’s located just a short twenty minute drive from the centre of the CBD. For anyone who owns a car, the  _ fallen bridge _ is relatively easy to find. Behind the bushes that sprawl out for miles on end is the bridge. It’s painted bright red with beams that creak every time you step on it. Many people have sent letters to the council, asking for them to tear the bridge down. But really, the only people who use it are the people who are ready to gamble with their lives. 

The only ones here are wondering whether they’re lucky or unlucky. 

(Please, he wishes as he looks to the sky,  _ let me be lucky.) _

His hand closes around the paper. His handwriting is halfway between childish and a doctor’s, and twice as bad. The letter is his secret, one thing he only shares with the moon at three in the morning. He talks to his shadows all the time, each one of them swirling around him. 

Soon, it won’t be much of a secret.  __

Keith folds the letter, crinkling, and places it on the seat beside him. Whoever finds this will know his reasons, will know what’s been going on in his mind. He closes his eyes gently as he tugs the door open, sighing. Each step takes a while, each step makes him doubt his decision. He’s written the letter at least a thousand times, and by the time they discover his car, he’ll be long gone. Slamming his hands in his pockets, he panics for a split second, wondering where his phone is. But then he looks at it sitting uselessly on the passenger seat and remembers that where he’s going, he doesn’t need it.  

It vibrates and he wonders who’s messaging him at this time of the night. Probably Lance, finishing up at the restaurant, he decides. But he doesn’t bother to flip it over, he doesn’t bother to reply to it. 

He doesn’t need much, except for his body. The hopeful part of him clings onto the glimmer of belief that there’s something after all of this. The other part of him just wishes for conclusion. 

The wind picks up and the cold bites at his cheeks. He’s about to unlock his car again, to pick up his red jacket, but then he realises that there’s no point. Shoving the key back into his pocket, he takes a couple more steps and hesitates. 

Is this the right decision? 

He can’t turn back now. He’s turned back so many times and the grief just gets stronger and stronger. Right now, it’s grip twists at his neck and he’s finding it hard to breathe, he’s finding it hard to keep his hold on reality. He’s finding it hard to just  _ be.  _

A crow’s claws skitter on the metal handles of the bridge. It squawks at Keith as he walks past, angling its head in curiosity at the ashen faced man who walks past. His hands are a little shaky now, at the sheer suddenness of it all. If he falls now, he’ll never see this all again. He’ll never be able to see the sun again. 

But it’s been such a long time since he’s seen the sun. The labyrinth he’s exploring is closing in on itself, the walls that protect him from the increased darkness are collapsing. And it’s been crumbling for a while now. He remembers the first time a brick fell loose. The first brick is always the one that makes the loudest noise as it hits the concrete. It shattered and made the rest of the buildings rumble and sway. 

What remains is a memory palace that’s lost its foundations. Rubble that no one can put back together. 

His breathing slows as he peers over the edge. The water rushes down the river, snaking between the rocks that seem to be placed strategically, in a circle. Often the bodies are found there, body half folded or sprawled over the rocks. It’s a target, Keith thinks. 

The last time he came here, he saw another person take the plunge. Straight into the cold water. Her face is still burned in his mind. Her dark skin, lifeless, staring hauntingly into the distance. That’s the one face that made him leave the area quickly, stumble back into his car and back to society. 

Today, there’s no one else. The night is young and the moon is at its zenith. But it’s a Monday night, and people rarely go out on Mondays, he’s learnt. By the time they discover him, it may be a good five days. He’s planned over this for a while now. Obsessed over each little detail. He stopped answering text messages a couple of days ago. But the move isn’t unusual for him. His friends always interpret it as a typical “ _ Keith”  _ moment. The silence is just what he  _ does _ . 

Anyway, he’s tried talking this out with people. He’s tried hinting at what he’s going to do, he tried telling people how he’s feeling. But it’s all hollow words anyway. With their expressions plastered into something that’s close to  _ sympathy _ , they tell him that there’s always a way out. The one person whom he trusted the most told him that she didn’t fucking care. She said that he could do whatever he wanted. Those words still gnaw at him, even if the months have caused them to drift apart, like two leaves caught in different winds. 

“Don’t fucking talk to me about this again,” she said. He’s never spoken about this again to anyone else. It’s too much trouble, it’s too much for them to care. 

Keith sighs and decides that it’s time. The moment he leans forward, he realises that he’s got the angle all wrong. He’s not going to land  _ inside _ the ring, but outside. 

(He can’t even do one simple thing  _ right _ ) 

Once he’s able to push that thought aside, the moment of freedom he receives while he flies is liberating. It’s as if every problem he’s experiencing has flown from him. The heavy weight of emotion shatters from him, and for a second, he feels like a god. 

The moment he plunges against the water, pain flares up in his body. He tries to twist to turn his body to the surface, but he finds that  _ moving _ hurts. More air rushes in bubbles from his mouth and he’s still facing the darker depths of the river. His mind lingers on a final thought, a small  _ thank you _ . 

_ Thank you for making my day lucky _ . 

And he lets the world fade away. 

* * *

Keith’s eyes open. Shivering, he blinks as the moon comes into focus against the midnight blue. He wonders if he’s dead. He shakily lifts his head up and he sees the  _ fallen bridge _ in the background — a startlingly rusty red that shimmers in the pale light. 

His hands close around the sand and his foot pushes more into the water. His heart hammers in his chest. He’s hidden in the tangle of reeds and the groggy part of his brain registers that he’s  _ somewhere _ . Maybe this is what heaven is like, he wonders, shifting his gaze around. 

Then the pain flares up in his chest and he coughs, pushing water out of his lungs. He turns over and the coughing takes over his body again. But the more he coughs, the more he realises that he’s  _ very _ much alive. 

“No,” he whispers. His eyes widen and he clenches his jaw. He slams his hand against the sand repeatedly until it’s bloody and raw. His eyes burn and his breaths are watery and all he wants to do is sink back into the water. “ _ Please, no.”  _

“You’re awake.” There’s a man in the corner of his vision — more shadow than human. He’s waiting for Keith to respond, he’s waiting for Keith to say something. 

“No,” Keith repeats. It’s all he  _ can _ say. He doesn’t want to look up, he doesn’t want to see who saved him. 

“You’re lucky,” he replies. Those words make Keith wince and he’s taking his time to digest the words. “You’re really lucky.” 

(Did he  _ truly _ save him, though?) 

When Keith doesn’t reply, he says, “I’m glad you’re awake.” 

Reluctantly, Keith makes eye contact with him. The man has a scar that glistens across his nose as it catches the moonlight. His eyebrows are knitted with sincere concern and he takes a seat a little too close to Keith for his liking. Keith skitters away, his back pressed against one of the rocks on the riverbank. If the man notices, he doesn’t seem to mind. Keith’s eyeing him with suspicion, trying to discern what it  _ is _ that’s making him dislike the man.  

His next words are slow. They’re manufactured. “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t what you wanted.” 

Keith is about to explode in anger. But a tiredness settles over his body and he finds that he can’t even move. So he just lays there, boneless and silent. 

His voice is slow and adjusted in such a way that you would talk to someone who won’t listen. “You’re in a lot of pain right now.” 

Keith winces. “You think?” 

“I know,” he says. “I  _ know _ . Trust me, I’ve been there. I’ve done it all, just like you.” 

Keith angles his head away. “And you survived?” 

With a ghost of a smile, he says, “Barely.” 

Keith looks at his hands. 

The man throws his red jacket at him. It’s strangely dry in his hands and he holds it, staring at it with confusion. “Where — “ 

He’s giving him the warmest smile. Keith swears he hasn’t seen someone look at him that way since he was a teenager. He’s had too many jobs, he’s seen too many people, and he’s failed so many times that  _ that _ kind of smile is so foreign to him. 

“Keith, don’t do this to your friends,” the man says gently. “There are people who truly care about you, even if it doesn’t look like it.” 

It’s only when his fingers trace over the fabric that he realises he’s cold. Freezing. 

He shrugs it on but he doesn’t want to move. Moving means readjusting to the reality, moving means having to take into account that he’s still alive. 

“Why did you do it?” Keith whispers, his voice raspy. “Why?” 

“Because you’re young.” 

“I’m twenty-eight,” Keith combats. “I can make my own decisions.” 

It’s the next look the man gives him that makes Keith unravel. 

“You’re  _ young _ ,” the man repeats. “You still have a lot of things to do in the world, you still have time.” 

Keith’s lips thin and his hair covers his face. Time. He has too much time. In the inevitable stretch of reality, he sees that time has truly left him. It means nothing and yet it also means everything. Each second that drags on means facing his lack of accomplishments, facing his failures. 

“I’m Shiro,” he says finally. 

“Keith.” 

“Why don’t we get you home, Keith?” He smiles  _ that _ warm smile again. Guilt bubbles in his chest. He doesn’t deserve  _ that  _ kind of smile. 

“I’ll make you something to eat,”  _ Shiro _ nods. “Something warm.” 

And it’s the first act of kindness he’s ever received in a while. 


	2. Chapter 2

Keith stabs the key into the lock and twists the doorknob. He pushes against it with as much energy he can find. He sees Shiro hesitate next to him and it’s not until Keith arches his neck, giving him permission, that the man enters. Somewhere, he manages to muster the thought that the man is some sort of _gentleman_.

“You can come on in,” Keith tries saying but it comes out like a grunt.

Shiro seems to smile next to him, as if he’s heard that thought which makes Keith freeze. After a few moments, his shoulders sag in relief, knowing that there’s _nothing_ that would have given him away just yet.

The moment he crosses the threshold into his apartment is the moment he thinks he’s about to fall over. The world around him drips into watery hues and the pounding in his head increases tenfold. It beats like a drum, a beat that encases him in the same spiral. He bites his hand hard, taking in the pain, his eyes glazing over as he does that.

“Hey,” Shiro says quietly. “You’re here. You’re okay, Keith.”

It draws him back to reality, back away from his thoughts. The next thing he notices is that his apartment smells of rotten oranges and unwashed laundry.

He _wants_ to be embarrassed but he’s not. Even at Shiro’s indignant stare, he finds that he doesn’t really care anymore.

Keith kicks away at the bills on the ground. On the corner, there’s a bunch load more that’s going unnoticed, _unread_ . His laptop sits on his small desk by the window. It overlooks another large apartment complex — with walls of other people stuck in their little pods. Keith remembers the days he spends staring at everyone in their little pods, living their lives. They don’t care about him. Hardly anyone cares about him. Except for this _Shiro,_ apparently. Except for this man who fished him out of the water, and forced him to continue living despite his protests.

He throws himself onto the couch — the only part of the apartment that’s not covered in stuff. He doesn’t bother with Shiro. He can do whatever he wants, Keith _didn’t_ invite him.

“Would you like something to eat?” Shiro asks quietly.

Keith shrugs. He doesn’t have the energy to make a proper decision. If there’s anything else he can do  —

(He barely has the energy to do anything right now)  

“I’ll make something,” Shiro nods.

“There isn’t anything —”

Shiro pulls out a carton of eggs and eyes Keith. There’s a small smile dancing on the corner of his lips and he’s already rifling through other items that Keith has in the cupboards. “You’re telling me you have nothing?”

Keith waves a hand at Shiro as he begins tottering around the kitchen. His phone beside him buzzes multiple times and he reaches out to grab it. It’s Pidge, of all people. He eyes the message who’s asking him to come over in a couple of hours to help her with her new robot that she’s building. Keith runs his hands over his face. He has to sleep.

He can’t go.

Then there’s another message from Hunk who’s asking him to try a new recipe he’s made.

He doesn’t respond to that either.

The last one is from Lance. He asks whether Keith wants to go for drinks later in the afternoon. Keith treasures these moments that his friends ask him to do things, but right now, all he wants to do is lie down and never see the world again. He just wants to simply _be_ and not _live_.

If that even makes sense.

“Are your friends messaging you?” Shiro calls from the hiss of the frying pan.

Keith grunts his response.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” Shiro replies.

“Yeah,” Keith says as he drapes a leg over the back of the couch.

“You should reply to them. They deserve a response, Keith,” Shiro says.

 

Keith ignores him and turns his phone over. He closes his eyes and pulls out a cigarette from his pocket. He lights it up and inhales deeply, breathing out as the smoke settles in his lungs. He's been stealing wifi from his neighbours for most of the year and he keeps his phone calls to an absolute minimum. 

“Cigarettes aren’t so good for you,” Shiro says, tutting him. 

“So?” Keith murmurs, the cigarette bobbing up and down between his lips. “I’m dying anyway.”

“ _Keith.”_

He imagines that Shiro has his hands on his hips right now.

“You’re not my fucking mother,” Keith shouts. He sits up and sizes Shiro up. “Look, I didn’t ask to be saved. Okay? Now I’m here and now you’re making me food and I just don’t know how to react. Give me time to think about it.”

“I hope you don’t do drugs —”

“What if I fucking did?” Keith snaps. Their silence is awkward, this kind of silence is _angry_ and _red,_ and it hangs there, far too large for this confined space. It’s the exact same silence that they experienced moments ago and strangely enough, Keith wants to fill it with something. “I don’t. I don’t like things that tamper with my brain.”

If Shiro heard him, then he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he places a plate in front of him. The smell of freshly cooked food invade all his senses and suddenly, Keith is salivating. “Eat slowly. Judging by the state of your kitchen, you haven’t properly eaten for a while.”

He extinguishes the cigarette on the table and he shoves his fork into the food. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t know how quickly he eats it but he doesn’t care either. Whatever Shiro had just made tasted _fucking_ great and he just wants more.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” Shiro replies. He’s seated across from him, another _gentle_ smile that he doesn’t deserve on his lips. It makes Keith’s heartquake and he holds his stomach. The more he sits there, the more he remembers the _lack_ of food he’s eaten over the last couple of days, maybe even weeks.

It shifts uncomfortably inside and he manages to barely get up before he hurls. Flecks of what he had just eaten stain his carpet and he continues retching, his hands slipping in the vomit. His entire body shakes and his breathing is heavy. Spinning around, his shoulders hit the coffee table hard and another part of him wants to expel whatever few items remain in his stomach but he doesn’t. He tilts his head to the ceiling and there’s a small whimper that startles him.

 _He’s_ making the small whimper.

 _He’s_ making sounds that he’s never made before.

Keith barely manages to say thank you when Shiro places a cup of water between his hands.

“Hey,” Shiro says quietly, like he’s afraid any loud sounds will startle Keith.

(And he’s thankful for that)

A sudden wetness travels down his cheeks and he realises he’s crying. “I’m sorry.”

There’s no use being strong anymore. There’s no use pretending that he _hadn’t_ just tried to take his life. There’s no point in treading eggshells, avoiding the subject, because it _had_ happened. His bottom lip trembles and all the emotion he’s been keeping bundled inside of him pour out like a tidal wave.

“We should get you cleaned up,” Shiro says and he helps Keith to his feet.

Keith staggers in a trance-like state towards his bathroom, with Shiro holding him upright. Numbly, he turns on the tap and begins washing his hands. He splashes his face with water, letting the coldness seep into his bones and ground him. He wonders if he looks like a mess.

“You look great,” Shiro replies.

Keith turns his head, wide-eyed. Did he just say that aloud?

“Here,” Shiro guides his hand back to the sink and the soap. It lathers up and soon, the smell of vomit leaves him and he’s left smelling like honey and lemon. Two things he never thought he would ever say. They stay in the bathroom for a while and despite himself, he catches his reflection in the mirror.

If it had been another day, he wouldn’t have recognised himself. With the slightly droopy smile, the eyes with bags underneath them and the too pale face, he shudders. That’s what he looks like _now_. Imagine what he looked like days before.

“I need a haircut,” Keith sighs as he runs his hands through his hair.

“Hey Keith,” Shiro says and he’s holding his phone. “How long have you ignored your friends messages?”

“Hey,” Keith exclaims. He tries to snatch a glance at the screen, tries to get it off Shiro. But the man angles his body away so that he can’t.

With resignation, Keith asks, “How did you get past my passcode?”

The familiar grey messages are on the screen, with questions asking whether Keith is free or just idle chat. It’s essentially everything Keith’s been avoiding for days, maybe even weeks — he’s lost count.

“And _Keith_ ,” Shiro says. He’s holding up the letters. “How many months of rent have you not paid?”

The eviction letter stands there. Keith’s breath hitches in his throat. “Shiro. Please. Stop this.”

He slaps the letters away from his hands, letting them sit damp in the sink. His phone clatters on the ground and the screen shatters. It makes his heart leap in his chest. The price to fix that screen is something that he _knows_ he can’t afford and his hands start shaking again.

“Shiro,” Keith says again. The man’s name is acting as a beacon of his sanity and he wonders how long it will be until he finds that his grip on reality is no longer here.

(Again)

“Shiro, please,” Keith says. His mouth contorts into a sad attempt at a smile — something that’s been plastered on way too many times, something that’s been shattered too many times. “I just.. pretend that it’s not there. That nothing is here.”

“You know you can’t keep pretending forever.”

“That’s why …” Keith starts but he doesn’t finish the sentence. They both know what he’s about to say and they both acknowledge it with their silence.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers as he lifts his chin up with his index finger. “How long have you been without a job?”

“Over a year now,” Keith says, not catching his eye. “They let me go when the company had to size down. They didn’t really need anymore mechanical engineers…”

“And have you told anyone? Your friends?” Shiro says.

Keith shakes his head.

“You’ve kept this secret from them for an entire year.” Shiro’s voice isn’t questioning, it’s more of an exasperated sigh.

Keith nods.

He’s tapped into the last of his savings. He has no family to ask for help, he has _no one_. So he’s just kept it to himself as he tries to apply for jobs that would never want him. He’s even gone back to retail, but it’s not enough to pay for rent, it’s not enough to pay for electricity. It’s …

Not enough to live.

“Why?”

“Because they would pity me,” Keith replies simply. “That’s what I don’t want.”

“They’re your friends.”

“So what?” Keith’s voice is so loud that it makes him flinch in surprise. “I’m sorry. Sorry. All you’ve done is be kind to me.. You can have my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Keith…”

“I’m going to get some sleep.”

He pushes past Shiro and drops onto the couch. He closes his eyes, thinking that he won’t be able to sleep. But there’s a hand that holds his own and as he cracks open one eye, he sees Shiro sitting on his haunches, holding it.

Keith turns over and shoves his hands beneath his armpits.

“Goodnight, Keith.”

He doesn’t dream that night.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

“You can do this,” Shiro says quietly. His voice drifts away in the wind and Keith can’t hear it anymore as he stares at the restaurant in front of him. The neon open sign flashes against the window and he can see his three friends sitting inside, talking to each other, he can see them. But he can’t move.

“Keith, they invited you,” Shiro whispers. He’s closer now, his voice against his ear. Keith turns to face him, fear making his own lips tremble. He clenches his fist and reopens it again. They haven’t seen him yet, he can still run.

_(Which is what he’s good at)_

“I haven’t gone for the last month,” Keith sighs. “I haven’t gone because I can’t afford it.”

“Treasure your friends,” Shiro says. “They’re always there for you.”

His breath catches in his throat. What could he tell them? Tell them that he’s lost his job? Tell them that he’s been trying to find one without them knowing? Tell them that he’s tried to kill himself in the last twenty-four hours? It would be all too much for them to know at once. It would be too much for them to learn about him.

In all his years, he’s kept his secrets and plans close to his chest. He listens to the wind, trying to figure out the best way to go. And just when he thought he could finally settle down, when he could finally be content with something he’s doing in his life, his plans change.

The walls that he’s built up so high crumble, leaving a trembling boy watching a sky he hasn’t seen for decades.

“It’s not that.” The words escape his lips before he can stop them. “... I just don’t want them to see me as a failure.”

“Why do you think you’re a failure?” Shiro asks. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and his breath dances out in front of him.

Keith gestures vaguely around him. “Because look where I am now.”

“Everyone falls at some point. You’ve just gotta get up.”

“I’ve fallen so many times,” Keith sighs. There’s no use keeping it all behind closed walls now. Not when the man has already seen him at his lowest. “They called me a child prodigy, they said I was destined for great things. I drank that expectation, but then shit happened. I wasn’t destined for the right kind of greatness.”

“Let’s talk to them,” Shiro says gently. “And then we’ll see what they think of you.”

He can still leave —

It’s Pidge who sees him first. She raises a hand, a smile all over her face as she runs out of the restaurant. Even though she’s small, she closes the distance between them incredibly fast.

Lance and Hunk follow, with Lance still dressed up in his waiter uniform — an apron tied loosely around his waist. It’s his family’s business, the restaurant. They meet every Friday just for a meal and to catch up, to see what everyone has done with their lives.

“You ignored my message,” Pidge piques up the moment she releases him from her grasp. Keith takes a step back before anyone else can hug him.

“Uh,” Keith replies dumbly. “I don’t think I got them —”

“It says _read_ , you _read_ the message Keith. I still need someone to help out, if you want to come later tonight?” Her expression is hopeful and her eyes glisten with happiness.

“What are you trying to make?” Keith furrows his eyebrows, unfortunately having to humour her. She’s clever and she deduces things faster than anyone he knows.

“It’s a telepresence robot, although I’m trying to make it so that the screen is suspended in air and it doesn’t look quite as clunky,” she responds. She pulls out her phone and thrusts it into Keith’s vision. He blinks twice, looking at the odd design. “I’m having problems with the motors and thought you could help out.”

“I can try…” Keith drifts off and the opening is enough for Lance to drop in.

“Mullet boy!” Lance exclaims. He slams his hand on Keith’s back. “Why haven’t you had a haircut in like twenty years? You’re not going to get any girls with that. Trust me, I know.” He leans forward and stage whispers. “Also, there’s this girl I need to introduce you to, I think she’s your type —”

“Uh,” Keith interrupts him. Lance is still about to continue his speech and Keith can only imagine that he’s going to talk about how beautiful the woman is. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“ _Lance_ ,” Pidge rolls her eyes as she shoves him with a considerable amount of force. “Sometimes I think you need to be able to read between the lines better than you do right now.”

“What?” Lance pouts, folding his arms. “What are you talking about?”

Hunk bursts out laughing. “Keith, we ordered your favourite, seeing as you haven’t come out for a meal in _ages_.”

Keith’s shoulders sag in relief at the change of subject. Lance pushes him towards the door of the restaurant and Hunk begins talking about his new recipe that he’s making. He works at the Mars Company as a chemical engineer and it sometimes makes Keith wish that he took that path. But then again, if Pidge can learn software and electrical without college, then degrees probably mean little anyway.

He turns back to see Shiro standing by the shadows. The man gives him a reassuring nod and Keith returns it with a confused glare, but his friends are already pulling out a chair for him and pouring him drinks.  

“Also,” Hunk declares, slamming the wine bottle on the table. “Your meal’s on me.”

“Aw!” Lance shouts. “Why can’t you treat me out to a meal?”

“You own the place,” Hunk says as he lifts the glass to his lips. “You’re already getting my money.”

“I gotta tell you something,” Pidge says as she sits down. “Allura of Altean Enterprises wants to invest in my small startup and… I just want to know if you want to join my venture? I know you’ve got a job and everything.”

Keith swallows back the lump that’s in his throat. “Allura? The inventor of —”

“That’s right, _her_ !” Pidge squeals in excitement. She pushes her glasses back with her knuckles. “ _Allura_ wants to invest in _my_ product, and look I can’t do this by myself. Hunk doesn’t want to help, Lance is _useless_.”

“Oi!” Lance piques up.

But Pidge ignores him. “And really, I don’t have anyone else I can ask. _Please, Keith_.”

“Sure,” Keith nods. “I’d love to.”

“Isn’t _Allura_ into that weird prophecy shit, though?” Lance asks. He props his head on his hands and raises his eyebrows. “Like I remember she once refused to back a project because it wasn’t written in the stars or something strange like that.”

“She’s — an interesting character,” Pidge raises a finger as she tries to find the right word. “It’s sometimes like she isn’t from this planet, I guess. But an influential person like her is always good for a new startup like mine.”

Hunk raises his glass. “To Pidge and her new entrepreneurial status!”

Keith fumbles for the glass and knocks it over. The red wine spills on the white tablecloth and he stares at it, frozen, unsure what to do. He begins trembling. Shit he can’t ever do anything right. He can’t even pick up a glass of wine without spilling it.  

“Keith?” Lance says, a little hesitantly. “Buddy? Hey _buddy_ , are you okay?”

He bites the inside of his cheek hard and slowly lifts his gaze. He pieces back some form of happiness and nods.

“To Pidge,” he says, holding his empty glass and he forces a laugh.

Hunk leans over and pours him more wine. “You look a little pale there. Are you sure —”

“I’m fine,” Keith says gruffly. And the anger in his voice makes them all halt their questions.

“Can I borrow your phone, Keith?” Pidge asks. “Mine’s out of battery.”

Keith passes her his phone.

“How’s Shay?” Lance says, directing his attention to Hunk. Keith leans back into the conversation, glad he doesn’t have to speak. It’s easy to simply listen to whatever the others talk about. It’s easier not speaking himself. They talk about mundane things, they talk about new apps, they talk about new people they've met. Most of the people they talk about, Keith doesn't really know, but he's been out of the social sphere for so long that he doesn't really care. 

If he speaks, he’s afraid he’ll reveal too much.

If he speaks, he’s afraid they’ll start to know more.

He pours himself another drink. And another,  _and_ another. He wonders if he'll be able to concentrate on anything later tonight when he's helping out Pidge. But that's something to consider later in the evening.

"You sure you haven't had enough there?" Hunk asks. "I know I'm paying for your meal, but just for the sake of you going home. Did you drive tonight?"

"I walked," Keith replies and before he can say anymore, a loud voice enters the fray.  

“Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaance! You lazy child,” someone squeals. Lance ducks with a sheepish grin. “Your break is over! There are customers that need to be served. What are you doing?”

“That would be my mother," he frowns. "I’m sorry guys, but it has been fun. Let’s do it again next week.” He stands up and snaps his fingers at Keith. “I wanna see you next week, buddy. I also want to show you that girl next week.” Lance winks at Keith and goes back to the kitchen. "Alrighty, who's ready to be  _served!?"_

Pidge slaps her palm on her face and drags it down to her chin. “Can I tell him yet?”

“Tell him what?” Keith asks, giving her a blank stare.

Instead of replying, she just smiles.

“Alright, I gotta get going or else Shay is going to, well,” Hunk shrugs. “You know, get annoyed that I’m not home early. She wants to watch Inception again tonight. That movie blows my mind every time I watch it.”

He picks up his briefcase and waves at them all.

And it’s now just him and Pidge left sitting at the table.  

“Keith. Where were you last night?” Pidge asks.

Keith freezes.

“Please tell me you’re okay, Keith,” Pidge says. “You know you can tell me what’s going on. You know you can trust me.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” he says. “I was home last night.”

“I tracked your location.”

She leans over and places a hand on his shoulder. Her movement is so kind, so caring, that he flinches and stands up.

“You were at the fallen bridge.”

“I have to go, I’m sorry, I’ll visit your place tomorrow,” Keith mumbles, his words blurring into one. He’s already moving out of the restaurant before she can say anything more. As soon as he’s outside, he sucks air in greedily and clutches his sides. It’s too close. She’s discovered his secret, one that he doesn’t want anyone to know. Why is he so jumpy today? Why is he so emotional today? He wants to blame it on the alcohol, he  _wants_ to _._ But he remembers that he lost it even before the first glass of wine. 

He falls to his knees. Feet fill his vision and all of a sudden, he can feel hot tears falling down his face.

“Don’t shut them out.”

It’s Shiro.

Fucking Shiro, with his zen words. His words of wisdom.

“I’m _not_ shutting them out!” he shouts as he looks up at the man.

“Pidge is still in there. You can still see her.”

“Why the _fuck_ would I want to talk to her?” Keith hisses between gritted teeth. He hastily rubs the tears from his cheeks. “Tell her everything that’s been going on in my mind? I didn’t mind it in the letter. The letter is fine. But saying it aloud… just makes it all too real.”

“It’s funny isn’t it?” Shiro muses. “How powerful words become when spoken.”

Keith’s breathing is uneven. He wants to punch the man. He wants him to just leave his life. He didn’t ask for this, he didn’t ask for someone to make everything feel _more_ real. The numbness that clings to Keith is overwhelming right now and he doesn’t know what he has to do to overcome it.

“Keith, who are you talking to?” Pidge asks quietly. There’s concern in her voice.

Shiro almost runs, but it’s Keith’s hand that catches his arm before he can leave. Keith swallows hard. “His name is Shiro.”

Pidge smiles and she looks directly at Shiro. But there’s something off with her smile. It’s an indulgent smile, like she’s entertaining a child.

“Hi, Shiro,” she says. “Who are you to Keith?”

Shiro throws Keith a panicked glance.

“He’s a friend,” Keith says. “But that’s a loose term.”

“A loose term,” Pidge nods and laughs. “I shouldn’t be taking you away from him, then.”

“Oh, no it’s fine,” Keith says. “He was just leaving anyway. I can —”

He trails off when he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Tell her,” Shiro whispers. “Talk to her.”

“Pidge, I’m sorry,” Keith sighs with reluctance.  He looks her straight in the eye and forces to words out. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you everything.”

“You know you can talk to me whenever you want, right?” Pidge says. “I mean it. I’m usually awake at 3am.”

3am.

The time when his shadows are at its highest.

“I lost my job,” Keith blurts out. “I lost it. Maybe more than a month ago, I can’t remember anymore.”

The days blur into one. Searching for job after job. Even now, it’s hard to keep track of time. 

“I gathered that much,” Pidge says.

“... It’s the reason why you’re asking me to help you, isn’t it?”

She nods slowly. “You gonna come over tonight and help me out?”

“Alright,” Keith says. “I’ll do it.”

“Matt usually hates it when I bring people over late at night — only because he’s usually in his pjs. But I’m sure he won’t mind you coming along.”

Keith turns back to face Shiro.

“Go on,” Shiro nods. “I can come if you want me to.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” Keith responds. “But if you want to come along, then you can.”

“When you’re ready to tell me more,” Pidge starts as she walks away with a slight skip in her step. “Remember that I’ll always be here.”

And for the first time in a while, Keith realises that he’s never been alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is okay? I haven't had that much luck with writing for a really long time.


	4. Chapter 4

Building Pidge’s robots is the thing that keeps him sane for the next couple of weeks. Schedules makes it feel like he’s in control. It makes him feel  _ useful _ . 

In truth, it’s more the repetition, the fact that he’s doing something instead of wasting his life away searching through papers, trying to find a job that he would hate anyway. 

He thinks it’s because Pidge is one of the few people he likes in the world. She makes everything bearable. Friendship is hard to find and sometimes he wonders how lucky he is to have found them. 

“Can you pass me the screwdriver?” Pidge mumbles around the screws in her mouth. Keith reaches out and hands it to her as she begins piecing together the base of the robot. She’s called the first model, ‘ _ rover’ _ and Keith finds that the name grows on him. 

It’s past four in the morning and they’re still building, they’re still adding the finishing touches of the product they’ve been working on for the last couple of weeks. Adjusting the motors, adjusting the chassis base. It’s all somewhat beautiful and that’s the only word he can find to explain it. 

His fingers linger on the metal and he sighs. 

He’s managed to move half his stuff already into Pidge’s apartment (he didn’t have much to begin with) and they spend most of their waking hours building. And to be completely honest, he’s glad that Pidge shares the same sort of insomnia. 

She moves down and leans on her elbow, her hand tracing the base. “Shit, is that a  _ scratch?”  _

Keith moves over to investigate, squinting. “I don’t think so.” 

“No that is definitely a scratch,” Pidge huffs and she gets to her feet. Her hands clutch the tablet and she’s shaking. 

“Pidge…” Keith says slowly. 

“I’m emailing the manufacturer's,” she glares back at him. When she’s in one of  _ these _ moods, he knows it’s best to let her continue. So he nods, goes back to fixing up one of the printed circuit boards. One of the resistors have gone askew and despite holding it at multiple angles, he’s found that he’s having more trouble trying to solder it back on rather than keeping it steady. 

Too much solder and Pidge will get mad, but too little and it won’t stay on. So he leans across the table and fixes the magnifying glass, maintaining as much focus as possible. 

“Alright, good!” she exclaims and slams the tablet beside him. He jumps and curses as the solder drips across more of the circuit board. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles and he’s trying to salvage the rest of the solder with the sucker. But the mistake has already been made and he’s shaky and he can’t concentrate anymore. The panic washes over him and he hates this feeling, he hates how much it makes him feel so useless. It’s like black dripping down his vision and a hand that closes around his neck. 

Pidge notices her error and quickly apologises. “Don’t worry about that one. It was poorly made.” 

“Let me try to fix it,” Keith stutters. “Let me try to fix it.” 

He focuses all his attention on the circuit board, the green blurring into the silver. His chest rises and falls and as he brings down the soldering iron, his trembling hand makes it so that he melts the resistor instead. 

“Keith,” Pidge says, her hand on his shoulder. 

“Please.” He looks up at her, on the bridge of panicking, on the bridge of this  _ not _ going right. He clenches his jaw and tries to calm himself. The tightness in his chest makes him feel otherwise, but it’s  _ stupid _ , the way this turns on when there’s nothing to be scared about. 

“Let me make you a cup of tea.” 

And moments later, he doesn’t know how many — he doesn’t count — she’s standing in front of him with a mug. The mug she hands him is a small one, but there are words written on it in calligraphy. It says, “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams —” 

He stops reading right there, his eyes fluttering as he takes a sip. The warmth of the liquid is enough to settle his stomach that’s doing a million flips. He swallows and again relaxes. 

“Thank you,” Keith whispers. 

“No problem,” Pidge replies. She raises her eyebrows. “We’ve been working at this all day. I think we deserve a break.” 

“Have we?” Keith says. “I haven’t noticed.” 

“Of course you don’t, you just keep working,” Pidge grins. “And working… and working.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Keith says, masking his smile beneath his mug. 

“You should do that more often,” Pidge says, nudging her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Smile, that is. A proper one.” 

Keith shrugs. People say that to him all the time but there are times where he thinks it’s better to maintain neutrality instead of smiling. Instead of  _ faking _ his happiness, but it has been something he’s done for a long time. He sometimes thinks that everyone does this, everyone pretends to be okay, when they’re not. They’re as broken as he is. 

“How’s what’s his name?” 

“Hm?” Keith mumbles, nursing the hot cup of tea between his hands. 

Pidge looks pensive for a moment. “Shiro? I think that’s his name.” 

Keith almost stops breathing. It’s been something that’s bugging him for a while, but he’s assumed that he just… went back to work. Went back to his normal life. He pulls out his phone to see the date. He hasn’t seen the man for the last two weeks. 

His voice is small. “I don’t … know.” 

“You don’t know?” Pidge starts. “Aren’t you two lovers or something?” 

“Lovers?” Keith almost chokes on his tea. “No… no. He saved me. That night, he saved me.” 

“I know what you look like when you’re thinking about him,” Pidge says gently. “You care about him, and, well, that’s awesome that you do. But… just be careful.” 

“Careful?” 

She pauses and pulls off her glasses from her face. “Be careful what you discover.” 

“What do you mean? Do you know him?” Keith asks, trying to push her to answer. 

But she doesn’t. Instead she drags her hands down her face. “I think I’m going to get some shut-eye… big day tomorrow.” 

“Of course,” Keith nods. The hour hand is drawing across the six. He could see the sun breaking through the blinds. “You’re meeting with Allura at —” 

“One. If you want to come along,” Pidge replies. “Having my cofounder there would be great.”  

This makes Keith hesitate and stutter. “C - co -founder?” 

“Well, I would never have been able to fix up all these problems in the first prototype without you,” Pidge nods as she heads out of the workshop. She calls it the workshop, but it’s more a room in the basement with all her tools. 

“Co-founder…” He lets the words sit on his tongue, heavy. It’s the power of those words that make his heart surge in pride. 

“Get some sleep,” Pidge nods and walks from the room, leaving him in the workshop. 

Keith turns off the main light and switches on the lamp. There are a couple of things he wants to fix before he sleeps. So he hums quietly and begins fixing the last bit of circuitry he messed up moments before. Without Pidge’s careful eye, he isn’t as nervous. 

Then, he turns back to the corner with his makeshift bed. He been sleeping in there while Pidge has her own room upstairs. But it’s something he likes, he likes being among all the technology. He likes hearing the hum of the batteries being charged — everything here is peaceful. 

For a moment, he can pretend that there’s nothing wrong. 

For a moment, he can enjoy being awake. 

There’s a knock on the window. At first he ignores it, pulling up his covers and closing his eyes. 

But there it is again, incessant and urgent. 

Keith slowly gets up and pulls back the curtains. He tilts his head in surprise at the man on the other side. His eyes are hopeful, his hair all too familiar. Unable to move, he stands there, staring. The man stares back at him.  

When he says hello, Keith knows he isn’t dreaming. 

He opens the window and lets Shiro inside. The man swings his leg over the ledge and sits there, a lopsided grin gracing his face like he’s a teenager, sneaking into his boyfriend’s house for the first time. 

“Hello,” Shiro smiles. His hands linger on Keith’s shoulders and he pulls him in for a hug. Close up, Shiro smells of the sea. He smells like the restless nights, he smells like a hurricane ready to consume him whole. 

_ Just be careful _ . 

Pidge’s words. 

Sweet Pidge, looking out for him when he thinks that no one else is. 

“Are you okay?” Shiro asks as he pushes Keith away, staring into his eyes. 

His grip is strong, like he’s holding Keith to the floor, like he’s grounding Keith in the present. Part of Keith wants to melt into his embrace, crumble and weep from happiness and relief. His life hasn’t been the best, but he can see it’s a steady battle going uphill, a steady battle to stitch up all the scars from cuts that have punctured his already broken body. 

“Where have you been?” Keith whispers. It’s breathy and it lacks confidence. 

Shiro lowers his hands and chuckles. “Around. Just around.” 

“You didn’t tell me where you went… or how long,” Keith slows his words as he tries to figure out what he’s going to say. 

Shiro’s expression smoulders and he looks genuinely apologetic. “I just wanted you to settle in with your friends again before I reintroduced myself to your life.” 

“Reintroduced yourself?” 

“It wasn’t the best introduction,” Shiro replies. “I wish it could’ve been something like…” 

He drifts off, his gaze distant. He’s offset from the present by a couple of inches and when he finds his story he wants to tell, he breathes in his confidence and speaks it. 

“Something like we met on the streets of Paris, you looking a little lost and me, being a suave Frenchman giving you directions as well as slipping my number into your pocket,” Shiro nods to himself, as if proud of that moment. 

Keith can only stare with confusion, unable to comprehend what he’s trying to say. 

“A flower that only blooms when it thinks no one is watching,” Shiro mumbles. He brings Keith’s hands to his lips and breathes him in, eyes fluttering closed. “Stormy waters with only the moonlight to guide you. Gravity that settles beneath your feet and the world at your fingertips.” 

“Huh?” Keith manages to say. 

“Habit,” Shiro replies as he slips from the window ledge. He moves over to rover and places his hands on his thighs as he examines it. 

“I don’t think I know anything about you,” Keith says. “You know so much about me, where I’m from, what I’ve done.” 

“Do I?” Shiro arches an eyebrow. “Somehow, between office jobs, I’m an author. It helps you when all you want to do is fly.” 

It’s too early for these cryptic sentences. It’s too late for trying to deduce who this man  _ is _ . 

“I wanted to be a pilot when I grew up,” Shiro says, shoulders sagging in defeat when he realises Keith didn’t understand what he just said. “I studied aeronautical engineering, but I was more of a pilot. I tried, went for a few years, and then my eyesight wasn’t too great and here I am.” 

“Here we are…” Keith mumbles. 

Shiro’s expression softens. “You should get some sleep. I didn’t think you’d be working that late.” 

“How long have you been out there for? Why didn’t you come in?” Keith exclaims. “Do you want tea or coffee?” 

“I want to kiss you,” Shiro replies instead, out of the blue. The words surprise even himself and he curses, turning away, trying to hide his blush. But his entire face is red. “Sorry, only if you want to. Of course, only if you want to.” 

Keith hesitates again and he leans forward, bridging the gap between them. He holds onto Shiro’s face tightly and presses his lips against his. It’s gentle at first, some sort of exploration as he waits for Shiro’s surprise to end and he kisses back. The hunger grows between the two of them and soon, Keith’s hands start exploring Shiro’s back and everything in between. 

They break and breathily, Shiro sighs, “Thank you.” 

“I need to sleep. I have a meeting tomorrow,” Keith says reluctantly. His fingers still linger on Shiro’s chest, the electricity trickling through him.“Will you still be here tomorrow?” 

Shiro gives him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be here whenever you need me.” 

* * *

He’s barely awake when they’re walking down the streets with Rover in a large box. He wheels it with Pidge walking beside him. She’s walking with a bounce in her step and her voice is far more melodic today. He’s trying his best to keep his eyes open, despite drinking three cups of coffee, he isn’t completely awake. 

“We probably need to fix our schedules once the project is out there,” Pidge says with a slight nudge. “Can’t have my co-founder sleepy like this all the time.” 

“Sorry, I had a rough night,” Keith mutters. 

Pidge arches her eyebrows and he wants to retract the sentence immediately. Before he can say anything, she stops abruptly and jerks a thumb to the left. “That’s her place.” 

They stand in front of the large building with gates that span a plot of land that Keith knows he'll never be able to afford. It towers over them, the white walls glistening as it catches the sunlight. A couple of marble lions sit by the main entry and down the long driveway, there's a lion sitting in the water fountain. 

"The castle of lions," she whispers. "That's what everyone calls it."

Pidge places a hand on his shoulder and winks. “Let’s go.” 

She presses the buzzer and the gates open. They’re greeted by a small, funny looking man who looks like a mouse. He scurries about, about to make a move to grab Rover but one sharp look from Pidge makes him think otherwise. 

He takes a seat in the golf buggy. Keith lifts up Rover and hugs it to his chest as Pidge stares wide eyed, taking in the sights. 

Allura’s by the front of the house with another tall man beside her. 

_ “Coran, his name is Coran,”  _ Pidge whispers as she jumps out of the car. 

“You must be Pidge Gunderson,” she says, holding her arm out. Then she moves to look at Keith, her eyes soaking in the sight. Her mouth opens slightly as she gasps, but she quickly composes herself. “And you are —” 

“Keith Kogane,” he replies, but his hands are full so he doesn’t extend it. 

Both Pidge and Allura are lost in conversation now. Keith finds himself drifting off into his own thoughts, chiming in every so often when it’s his duty. He mentions something about his project, what he wants from it and how many hours they’ve put into it. It’s what Pidge told him to say back at the apartment. 

They take a seat in an overly decadent living room. Another mouse-like man scampers towards them and pours some tea from a teapot. Keith feels so out of place here. It’s almost as if the walls are seeping with money. 

“We must have a meeting with my marketing team to figure out how to sell this product. But I believe in it,” Allura nods. 

A picture of Shiro catches his eye. It sits on the mantlepiece. He’s with Allura, arm draped across her shoulder. 

“You know Shiro?” Keith asks as he moves to pick up the photo. 

“Knew him,” Allura corrects. She closes her eyes gently, a sombre expression gracing her face. “He was one of the best men I knew.” 

This makes Keith’s heart flutter in his chest. “Sorry?” 

“He passed away a couple of months ago.” 

“No.” 

Pidge is now next to him. “Keith…” 

“How long did you know?” he says an accusatory glance in Pidge’s direction. 

“I — knew — a while. A while. I searched him up when you told me,” Pidge says in defeat. 

“And you didn’t tell me?” Keith exclaims. “You  _ saw _ me talking to him and you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t know what to say!” Pidge raises her hands up in peace, trying to allay the situation. “You looked happy. I didn’t want to stop that.” 

“Don’t tell me I made him up,” Keith whispers. His world seems to be shrinking in on him, everything crumbling in together. He can’t breathe anymore, he can’t even  _ think _ anymore. “Don’t fucking tell me I made him up.” 

Pidge leans over about to put a hand on Keith’s but he snaps his arm away so quickly. Betrayal emanates from him and questions why no one told him sooner are on his lips. 

“You couldn’t have made him up,” Allura says. “It’s impossible to make up a person you’ve never met in such vivid detail.” 

“Maybe he saw him at some point —” Pidge starts. 

Pidge.  _ Pidge _ . 

He wants to scream, but as usual he keeps it bottled up. It’s easier to stay trapped in the arena of your mind. It’s easy to stop talking, it’s easy to not even pay attention to the world. 

“They’ve never seen each other,” Allura replies. “I know this for a fact.” 

“How come?” 

Allura's trying to lighten the mood and Keith appreciates that. “Because if they did, Shiro would not stop talking about him.” 

Keith sits down shakily. Coran hands him a mug of tea but he can’t take it. Not now. 

Allura sits directly across him on her haunches. “Do you believe in ghost stories?” 

“I’m — not sure,” Keith says, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Allura’s eyes twinkle in a way that he never thought was possible. “Because I believe you have just met a ghost.” 

“What happened to him?” Keith asks. He lifts his eyes and he sees Shiro standing beside Allura, apologetic. 

“He was driving past the Fallen Bridge and he saw someone jump,” Allura replies. “He saved them at the cost of his own life.” 

“But why would he do that? Is it his decision to decide who lives and who dies?” Keith says, his tone bitter. 

“I guess not,” Allura says quietly. “But he believes that everyone should be able to live out their lives, that none should be taken away too quickly.”

Keith shakes his head.  

“You’re his  _ soulmate _ ,” Allura says. She brushes her hair from her eyes. “He didn’t find you in time.” 

Shiro’s the one who replies next. “I found you at the right time.” 

Keith looks up from his heavy eyelids. “Did you really?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unedited, apologies for the clunky paragraphs.  
> but it seems like most people guessed why i called it a ghost story in 5 parts c:


End file.
